A Flash Of Green
by tannersnemo
Summary: I decided to try some slash, what do you think? I don't reckon I can say much else without spoiling parts of it. SLASH warning, HarryxDraco sort of implied.


**A/N** - I got the idea for this fic last night, just as I was turning in. But the idea wouldn't leave me alone, so I got back up and typed it up. I rather like it, really. I think it's a kind of angsty self-denial thing. Fun, fun. Hm, this editing thing on FFN won't let me use a colon...oh, well. HarryxDraco SLASH pairing implied, at least on Harry's part.

**Disclaimer** - I own nothing. My dearest possession was my second grade yearbook, and I say was because I found it all stuck together from the week's rain earlier tonight. See, someone as sad as me couldn't possibly own Harry Potter. Therefore you should not sue me. :)

**A Flash Of Green**

Harry raises his wand, looking about warily, unsure of what to expect. He isn't sure how he came to be in this place, but he knows he heard a scuffle in the far corner. The area is completely dark, except for a perfect circle of bright light in what seems to be the center of the room. He's about to take a first step in that direction when a blonde figure comes striding out of the shadows. Harry blinks,

"Malfoy?"

Dusting his robes off, the Slytherin sneers at the sight of Harry.

"What are you doing here, Potter?"

"I don't know, _Malfoy_. I just," Harry carefully scratches his scar, biting his lower lip, "woke up and found myself here."

Draco squints at him for a moment, before his eyes travel over Harry's shoulder and widen as he quickly attempts to raise his own wand in defense. Harry swivels about, soon wishing he hadn't as he meets the red eyes of the unmistakable cloaked figure of Lord Voldemort. The stretched face smirks knowingly at Harry, raising his long, bony arm out of his robe sleeve to point the tip of his wand at Draco. There's a whisper of words, a flash of green light, and a loud thud as the blonde crumples to the ground. Harry doesn't have to look back to know Draco is dead, something inside tells him. He feels a piece of him shatter along side the other boy's soul, a piece of himself he rarely acknowledged. Only in his dreams, his nightmares, in unconscious thoughts. A loud laugh erupts from Voldemort as he shoves Harry away from him, onto the ground to Draco's body.

Pain beyond any pain he ever knew overtakes the young hero's body and Harry knows it's over. He tosses his wand aside and leans over the slender body before him. The boy's eyes are still wide open, glazed over, the life vacant from within. Harry vaguely hears the swish of a cloak as the room's only other living occupant disapparates away, leaving Harry alone with his sudden grief. His body shakes, dry tears suddenly taking over his feelings. Feelings of what, he isn't sure, all he is sure of is that he can't see himself without Draco standing across from him as he always did. Fighting, rowing, bickering, as they always did.

Harry takes his wand up again, feeling the coolness of the wood between his palm and fingers. He touches Draco's smooth face with his free hand, closing the other wizard's eyes before leaning down to lightly kiss his cheek. He straightens up again, tightening his grip on the bit of wood he is desperately grasping. He interlocks his fingers with the pale, cold pair lying on the floor and squeezes them as he points his wand to his temple, muttering two very well known words.

A second flash of green light, a rushing in his ears, and it's all over.

The scene changes abruptly as Harry's eyes fly open, hands immediately covering his scar as he gasps quietly in pain. He pushes himself up, using his elbows to prop his body while trying to adjust to the poor lighting and change of surroundings. Running his hands over his scar gently, then roughly into his hair he lets out a shaky, frustrated breath.

Another dream, he's so damn tired of these dreams. He takes a glass of water off the night table beside his four poster bed, sipping slowly to try and calm his ragged breath. He can deal with seeing bits of Voldemort's thoughts or happenings, at least he has a chance to save a life like he did with Mr. Weasley. But this, this isn't helping anyone. Seeing Malfoy killed, then watching as he cries foolishly over his body before offing himself will only bring more trouble into the already bubbling cauldron.

Putting the glass back onto the table, Harry allows his head to fall onto the cool pillow furiously blaming these strange dreams with Malfoy on his occlumency lessons with Snape. It's a weak excuse, he realizes, but it's better than confronting such alarming thoughts. Let alone doing something about them.


End file.
